The morning air in the Gowda household carried a scent of incense, wet earth, and age-old tension. The tiled-roof mansion stood tall among the new constructions creeping into the town, its old-world charm resisting change like the people within it.

Rudran woke up early, out of habit and unrest. He sat on the edge of the wooden cot, staring at the carved teak pillars of the guest room. This place held his childhood memories in small, fading snapshots—a bike ride down the mango orchard, his grandfather's firm hand on his shoulder, the smell of wood smoke from the backyard kitchen. But now, it all felt foreign.

A soft knock came at the door.

It was Nivedita, holding a steel tumbler of filter coffee. Her voice was chipper, too chipper. "Good morning, Bava. Thought you'd like some coffee."

He nodded politely, accepting it. She didn't leave.

"Can we go to the temple today? It's the local festival week. Ajja wanted us to visit together," she said, her words edged with intention.

Before he could respond, there was a loud voice from outside.

"Rudra!" It was Vikas Gowda.

Rudran stepped out with Nivedita trailing behind.

Vikas stood in the courtyard, arms crossed. The man had presence. His deep-set eyes didn't reveal much, but Rudran knew better. He'd seen them soften—only briefly—when they spoke of Roopa or shared stories of Rudran's childhood.

"We'll be going to the fields. You should see how your ajja still commands more respect here than half the sarpanchs around," Vikas said gruffly, turning without waiting for an answer.

Nivedita frowned. "He's taking you already? You just got here."

Rudran gave her a half-smile. "Maybe he missed me."

She crossed her arms, not hiding her displeasure.

Out on the fields, the wind whistled through the sugarcane. The workers greeted Vikas with reverence. Rudran walked beside him silently.

"You know, Rudra..." Vikas began after a long pause, "When your mother left us... I hated her for it."

Rudran turned, surprised at the bluntness.

"She broke my father. Broke this house. For love. For a man we never met until the wedding was already done. But," he sighed, "that man turned out better than I ever imagined."

He looked directly at Rudran.

"You remind me of him. Calm. Principled. Stubborn."

Rudran didn't speak.

Vikas continued, "But don't let someone else's choices write your story. Even your mother's or your aunt's."

Rudran paused. "Is this about the engagement?"

Vikas chuckled darkly. "It's about whether you'll be man enough to speak your truth. To fight if you must."

Back at the house, the mood was tense. Leelavathi was busy directing the cook to prepare a feast, and her eyes narrowed when she saw Rudran speaking privately with her husband.

"Everything alright?" she asked, too smoothly.

"Perfect," Vikas said shortly, not giving her anything.

Leelavathi's forced smile didn't falter, but the calculation in her eyes deepened. She turned to Nivedita. "Beta, why don't you show Rudra the puja arrangements? Just the two of you."

Before Nivedita could tug Rudran along, Roopa entered the hall, her face pale.

"Appa wants to see you," she said, her voice quiet but urgent.

Inside the dimly lit room, Rudran knelt beside his grandfather's cot. The old man was propped up with pillows, his breath shallow, but his eyes gleamed.

"You look like your father," he whispered, voice brittle. "And your mother... she still glows when she talks of you."

Rudran smiled faintly.

"I wronged them. My pride was too heavy back then. But I see clearly now."

He reached for Rudran's hand, bony fingers wrapping around his.

"I made choices from fear. Don't you. Choose what gives you peace. Choose love. Go get her my dear."

Rudran's eyes stung.

Behind them, Roopa stood silently, a tear slipping down her cheek. The man who had once banished her was now her biggest lesson in forgiveness.
(Roopa have talked with her father about Rudran and his love. Vikas had a hint too.)

That night, Aarna sat on the edge of her bed, flipping through a worn notebook filled with recipes and scribbled notes. The silence of her apartment had grown heavier since Rudran left.

She kept thinking of his message. The one she hadn't replied to. The one she had read more than twenty times.

Was it pride that kept her still? Or fear?

She remembered Roopa's words:
"If there's even a part of you that still cares for him, don't let this end because of our mistakes."

Aarna closed the book and looked toward the window. The same moonlight that kissed the town Rudran was in now, spilled into her room.

She whispered to the night, "Don't make me wait too long, Rudran. Or I might start believing you're just another thing I imagined too beautifully."
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AUTHOR'S POV❤️:
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